Snape's news that Potter had run from Hogwarts was both good and bad for their cause. On the one hand, it was now impossible to launch a strike against the boy at Hogwarts. On the other, he was no longer under Dumbledore's protection. Lucius didn't know why Potter had run from Hogwarts, and he didn't care. He left that obsession for his master.
Sighing and sipping his cognac again, Lucius could only hope that his plans were successful. Once the Ministry was under their control, it wouldn't matter as much that his master wanted to murder everyone in sight. He would have free reign to kill and maim while the Ministry sued for peace and adopted pureblood policies; Lucius hoped dearly it was enough to satisfy him.
Soon, he thought with some relief, soon we will be ready.
Bones Manor, Guest Rooms
Harry Potter looked at the letter in his hands for approximately the fortieth time that day, a dozen different emotions warring for dominance. He was sitting on the floor of his bedroom in Bones Manor, surrounded on all sides by the contents of the trunks he had retrieved from the Potter vault.
He had hoped to find letters from his parents, perhaps some of their personal effects, but most of the trunks contained things that were meaningless to him. There were photographs of people he didn't recognize, clothes from generations ago, trinkets of no estimable value, and even someone's wedding dress.
But there was no family grimoire, no diaries from his parents—nothing that would connect him personally to his history. There were a few items that intrigued him—like a pair of mirrors that apparently gave off no reflection—but on the whole he was very disappointed in the find.
The most interesting thing they had retrieved from Gringotts was a letter and photograph from Sirius Black. He had read the letter over and over, and its contents were still mystifying to him. It read:
Dear Harry,
If you're reading this letter, then it looks like I didn't survive the war. I hope we got a chance to get to know each other, or that you'll at least remember "Paff"—your big, black doggy friend. Did you know that was your first word? I've never been prouder in my life, and I've kept a copy of that photo for myself. Maybe your animagus form will be a dog too. Your dad may also claim he gave you your first broom ride, but don't believe him. It was your illustrious godfather—I snuck you out for a ride once when I was babysitting you. Now that I'm gone I suppose it's okay for you to tell your mum; she can't hex me in the afterlife.
There's not much I can give you save for this vault and the knowledge that I cared deeply for you. You were the first child of the Marauders, and we all doted on you as if you were our own. If you haven't heard them all already, ask your dad to tell you stories about the infamous Marauders and the genius of their pranks at Hogwarts.
Live well Harry, and pull a prank or two in memory of your godfather.
With you in spirit,
Sirius Black
January 29, 1981
Accompanying the letter was a small photo that featured a big black dog with a baby riding on its back. The dog was walking slowly in circles, as if chasing its tail, and the baby in the picture was giggling madly as it gripped the fur of the dog's neck.
That's me, Harry thought in disbelief. Something about it moved him more than any other photograph he possessed.
The letter also cleared up for Harry, at least partially, the mystery of the Marauder's Map. His father had been one of them; had been one of the map's creators. And "Paff" could only be Padfoot, apparently the nickname of Sirius Black.
So who was my dad? Harry wondered. Moony, Wormtail, or Prongs? 'Prongs' could be a stag's name, and that's my patronus form. Maybe it was my dad's animagus form. And Professor Lupin is a werewolf, and was friends with my dad. Could he be Moony? Why wouldn't he have told me about this when he taught me?
The letter's fond references to his then-living parents made Harry's heart tight with nostalgia, and, despite the author of the letter, he treasured it deeply. What he couldn't understand was how someone who seemed so fond of him had conspired to kill him and his family. Was the letter a hoax of some kind? It just didn't make sense. He vowed to ask Madam Bones about the matter when he saw her next.
His musing was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, which was thrust open as Tonks entered without an invitation. She had been at Bones Manor for the past few hours as a bodyguard of sorts.
"Hullo, Harry Potter," she smiled. "Find anything interesting in all that stuff?"
"Hey Tonks," he responded. "And no, not much. I thought there would be so much more. I don't even know what some of it is," he said, gesturing at the small mirrors that failed to show his reflection.
"Ooohhh," said Tonks, "I've seen those before. Pretty expensive, those are. They're not real mirrors—they're used for communication. You can only see another person in them, when they're using the other mirror."
"Oh," said Harry, "that could be useful then."
Tonks nodded. "Right useful indeed. Director Bones just flooed, and she and Unspeakable Croaker are coming over in a few minutes to talk to you. They had their meeting with Dumbledore."
"How did it go?" Harry asked nervously. He was aware of Bones' plan to confront Dumbledore, and had no idea what to expect from it.
"No idea," Tonks shrugged. "But she's still alive, so that's a good sign, yeah?" she smirked at him.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Tonks, you are the most—,"
.....
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